It was 2002, all asleep, and I awake, that I decided it was time.
I cannot tell you how long that feeling lasted, but it was characterised by an intense loneliness that is beyond all hope, and yet in my life I never felt such peace.
I don’t know what brought me back. The thought of my mother finding my body, or the feeling that Paradise could wait. In truth, I think I still had enough fight left in me. The bastards that told me it was all in my head, when I knew it wasn’t, would have to wait.
That cold winter’s night I fell into the abyss, but it wasn’t this illness that pushed me.
For over twenty five years they have made matters worse, much worse, and for some this all proves too much.
When you fight back in self defence, they tell the world how terrible you are, how dangerous you can be, and how fearful they are of you.
You try to speak up but you can’t because your voice is smothered by their cries for help across newspapers, television and radio.
Who uses such disproportionate language against some of the most vulnerable members of society and then claim's to be helping them ? They claim to be helping us, but they are killing me.
How do I live like this ? How do they live like that ? How many have ended their lives because they were pushed over the edge ? Why do some crimes go unpunished ?
There are times when this illness pains me to the bone, and I want these people to suffer like I suffer. I ask only that this illness, with its foot to the floor take them on a journey through time. I give them three months at the most, and a damascene conversion you have to see to believe.
Of course there are those that will never see the world through these eyes, but it’s easy to be calm and measured when you’re healthy and happy.
Those that circle the moral high ground like a vulture might circle its prey are so far removed from the world that I live in, that should they fall, they might ask for our forgiveness.
Life is amazing, truly wonderful, and although we sit and watch our lives pass by on the big screen, the best is yet to come, not least because the worst has passed us by. I say this not because I am sure of the future, but because I am certain of the past.
Who can imagine what it might be like to look upon such dark days as these and smile ? Who can say that will never happen ?
Whether it happens or not, I can tell you in all sincerity I wish I had never been born.
The truth maybe fashionably late, but it’s almost upon us. What will they say when the truth is here ?
Perhaps it’s not what they will say, but what they will feel; an intense loneliness that is beyond all hope and such peace that they have never felt in their life.
When all else fails
Blog entry posted by Quilp, Nov 2, 2013.